


The Spell Doesn't Work Anymore

by Cinaed



Series: The Best of Carolina The Teenage Witch [36]
Category: Red vs. Blue, Sabrina the Teenage Witch (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sabrina the Teenage Witch Fusion, Background Relationships, Family Drama, Gen, Magic, Near Death Experiences, Sibling Love, Spells & Enchantments, Supernatural Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23234221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: In this emotional roller-coaster of a season finale, an emergency strikes the Church family, sending the whole cast into crisis mode.
Relationships: Agent Carolina & AI Program Epsilon | Leonard Church, Agent Carolina & The Director | Dr. Leonard Church, The Director | Dr. Leonard Church & AI Program Epsilon | Leonard Church
Series: The Best of Carolina The Teenage Witch [36]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1183436
Comments: 50
Kudos: 68





	1. The Boy Who Fell Apart

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the season finale of season three! What a wild ride it's been, but it's been one of the episodes I've been looking forward to writing the most. 
> 
> Thanks as always to Aryashi for helping me with this huge episode! 
> 
> I'm going to be taking a short hiatus, as befitting a season finale, in order to get my thoughts together for season four, but then we'll be back with a really fun season!

As a nod to the holiday, the last lunch before Thanksgiving break is turkey and mashed potatoes. It’s one of Westbridge High’s better lunches, as long as you like gravy.

Carolina asks for a little gravy, and watches the lunch lady ladle two spoonfuls instead of three over the meat and mashed potatoes. The potatoes turn into an island half-buried under the gravy. She sighs as she sets the plate down at the table.

The walls are covered with decorations. Well, some of the decorations. Most of the paper cornucopia are still up, but the majority of the paper turkeys have been torn down and crumpled into paper balls. Even as Carolina grabs her orange juice, she watches as one of the balls gets tossed across the cafeteria and hits Harvey Kinkle in the back of the head.

Niner pokes at her turkey with her fork. “Place your bets now. Is this gonna taste better or worse than my dad’s Thanksgiving turkey?”

“Better,” Wash says immediately. He makes a face. “This one doesn’t taste like sawdust.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Niner agrees. She nudges Wash with her elbow. “You’re saving me some of your mom’s stuffing, right?”

“I’ve got the sandwich bag ready to go,” Wash deadpans.

Caboose beams. “I love Thanksgiving. All my sisters except Esther will be here! Tomorrow we’re going to start cooking, and Bethany is gonna make some pies, and it’s gonna be so much fun.” He smiles at Niner. “I’d offer you leftovers because my mom makes the best turkey, but we never have anything extra.”

Niner laughs. “Yeah, uh. I figured. But thanks.”

Caboose’s focus shifts to Church. “Tonight we’re gonna hang out, right?”

Church looks up from his pizza. He blinks. “Huh? Yeah.”

“Have fun,” Tucker says. “We’re getting up at, like, dawn to drive down to Virginia. Dad says it means we’ll beat traffic, but I think he just wants me to suffer.” He grins a little as he says it, like it’s some inside family joke. Then he glances at Church and Carolina.

Carolina can see the second he decides not to ask what their holiday plans are. He takes a swig of his chocolate milk. “Caboose, Esther’s still in Japan, right?”

“Yeah!” Caboose says. “Her host family is going to make her a Thanksgiving dinner.”

Carolina debates offering up her own plans. Her dad’s recovered from the flu, so they’re doing a small Thanksgiving dinner. Thankfully Grey doesn’t seem too scandalized about Carolina and her dad celebrating, and even Kimball had just raised an eyebrow and said dryly, “If my family asks, I was out of the house the entire day.”

But after Tucker’s look, it’s awkward. Especially since everyone will wonder why it’s just her dad again, and not her mom or Church’s mom. She keeps quiet, poking at her island of mashed potatoes drowning in gravy. “That’s nice of them,” she says instead.

Caboose nods. Then he looks thoughtful. “I wonder if they will make her favorite pie. Do they have pumpkins in Japan?”

“...I have no idea,” Carolina says.

“There are Japanese varieties of pumpkin,” Sheila says. “But pumpkin pie isn’t a staple dessert there, so they might offer your sister a kabocha pie. It is a squash that they generally use in soups, but I have heard of people using it to make pies as well.”

Carolina blinks at her, then wonders why she’s surprised. Sheila’s like an encyclopedia, ready with the latest obscure fact whenever someone asks.

“I want to try one,” Caboose says.

Carolina expects Church to agree, excited by the potential of a new dessert. Or maybe just point out that Japanese squash is probably hard to find in Westbridge.

But he doesn’t say anything, just keeps eating his pizza.

Carolina inwardly sighs. She wishes Church wasn’t so weird about Caboose and Sheila.

* * *

The window is cold against his cheek when Church rests his head against it. The bus vibrates, drowning out the mess of sound around him, everyone excited about something. He’d ask, but he doesn’t really care.

The vibrations drown out the noise, but they give him a headache. He shifts, letting his head drop against the seat cushion instead. Maybe he can take a quick nap. He closes his eyes and tries to get comfortable.

“Uh, isn’t this your stop?”

The voice is in his ear, loud and curious.

Church forces his eyes open, half-asleep already. It takes a second for him to realize the bus has stopped and that someone’s looking at him. He tries to shake off the grogginess. “Huh?” His eyes take another second to focus.

He spies a familiar flash of red hair disappearing off the bus. Right. This is his stop. He hauls himself to his feet, his backpack’s straps digging into his shoulders, obnoxiously heavy.

Still groggy, he misses the last step and lands awkwardly, grumbling under his breath at the twinge of pain in his ankle. He grumbles again when he realizes the front door is closed. Great. She couldn’t have waited? He fumbles around in his bag for his keys.

When he finally gets the door open, he lets the backpack drop. He looks towards the stairs, which seem endless. His ankle twinges again. He’s definitely not walking upstairs. Maybe he’ll take a nap on the couch.

Or not, because Carolina’s already there.

It’s not like he expects a big hello and confetti or anything, but he doesn’t know why she gives him a weird look as he flops down next to her. Her eyes widen and then narrow slightly. She looks confused. “I thought you were hanging out with Caboose tonight.”

It’s both a statement and a question, and Church doesn’t know how to respond. From the way she’s looking at him and the way she’s talking, he should know what she’s saying. He doesn’t. When he searches his memory, trying to figure it out, he’s hit with a weird feeling, the kind you get when you walk into a room and forget why you came in. This one’s accompanied by the same headache that’s been squeezing his skull for what feels like forever, though.

“Caboose?” he echoes. He rubs at his head, like that’ll dredge up whatever Carolina expects him to remember, or get rid of the pain. It just makes his head hurt worse. His vision blurs.

Carolina’s sitting right next to him, but her voice sounds distant.

“Yeah. Weren’t you going straight there? Caboose--”

“Carolina,” he says, the pain making him snap. “ _I don’t know who that--_ ”

* * *

For a moment, Carolina doesn’t understand what she’s seeing.

Church had been grouchy, scowling like she was being pushy or annoying for asking about Caboose. Then he’d stood up, snarling her name in a weird voice. Carolina had enough time to register why it sounds wrong, her dad’s accent creeping into the vowels, before Church just...dropped.

She was close enough to see his eyes roll back before he crumpled, landing sideways with a dull thud on the carpet. And now she’s staring down at him, and he’s not moving, he might not even be breathing, and instead of doing anything useful she keeps replaying the last minute when she should be doing _something_.

“ _Church_!”

Carolina shoves at the coffee table and drops to her knees next to Church. His hood’s fallen away from his face. There’s no color to his skin.

She tries to feel for a pulse, but her hand’s shaking too badly. What should she do? Every second of her CPR and first-aid training is gone, like seeing Church collapse erased it all. She shakes his shoulder. “Church. Wake up!”

She keeps shaking his shoulder, but he doesn’t open his eyes.

Carolina doesn’t hear Kimball approach until Kimball’s suddenly there.

“What happened?” Kimball doesn’t wait for a response, already pressing her fingers against Church’s throat.

“I don’t-- he was talking and he just-- he fell down and-- I can’t--”

Carolina’s voice cracks.

“Okay,” Kimball says. “Okay.” She keeps her fingers at Church’s neck, mumbling, “He has a pulse, that’s good, but-- it’s slow….” She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, then calls, her voice rising in urgency with every repetition, “Emily Grey, Emily Grey, _Emily Grey_!”

There’s a pop of displaced air, but Carolina doesn’t look away from Church.

“--nd _that’s_ why we wash our--” There’s a pause, and in a very different voice Grey says, “Vanessa?”

“We don’t know,” Kimball says. “He’s got a pulse, he’s breathing, but….”

There’s the familiar snap of Grey’s fingers, the beginning of a hastily murmured spell, and then magic washes over the room. The coffee table is shoved further away. Carolina’s hand, still on Church’s shoulder, prickles like electricity is crackling across her skin as a swirling cocoon of kanji, letters, and numbers wrap around Church.

She pulls her hand out of the spell. She still can’t bring herself to look away from Church.

When Kimball takes her elbow, she resists, making herself a heavy, impossible to move weight until Kimball says, “Come on, Emily needs some space to work.” Only then does she stand, her legs unsteady.

Kimball leads her into the kitchen, where there’s a cracked plate on the tiles. Kimball doesn’t seem to notice. She lets go of Carolina. For a second she starts to sit down, but then she stays standing.

“Was-- Did he seem--” Kimball stops. “Did he say anything?”

Carolina looks back. Red is creeping into the purple of the diagnostic spell, at least one third of the symbols shifting to a deep scarlet. That can’t be a good sign, right? Carolina’s stomach lurches. She almost runs back to him, except Grey is there, studying the symbols intently. “He, um. I thought he was mad. He was supposed to go to Caboose’s, and he didn’t, so. I was trying to ask him and he just--” She remembers the blurred accent, the flat look he gave her when she mentioned Caboose. “He didn’t-- he said. I think he said he didn’t know who Caboose was.”

Kimball’s lips press together.

“Why wouldn’t he remember?”

“I do--” Kimball pauses, her gaze shifting from Carolina as Grey walks into the kitchen. “Emily?”

“One moment,” Grey says. Carolina tries to cling to the calmness in Grey’s voice, but the calmness doesn’t match Grey’s expression, which is unsmiling and focused in a way Carolina’s never seen before. Grey goes straight to the toaster. A snap of her fingers summons an envelope to her hand. She puts it into the toaster and presses the button.

Carolina tries to figure out how to ask what the red means, but Grey does a sharp heel-turn, stepping over the broken plate. Her voice is still calm as she says, “I need to focus on the diagnostics spell. Let me know if there’s a response.”

Kimball’s frown takes on a puzzled slant. “A response from--”

There’s a thunderous crack and a rumble above their heads.

Carolina rushes to the kitchen door. She watches her dad halt on the stairs, gripping the railing. He must’ve gone for the closet as soon as he read Grey’s letter, because his tie and one of his cufflinks are missing. Her relief almost steals her breath. Her dad will fix Church.

Then frustration twists his face. She stares for a second before understanding hits. He can’t see. He can’t see Church or the diagnostic spell or anything useful, because she’s nearby. Before he can say anything, she slams the door shut, cutting herself off from the living room.

Her dad’s voice still carries, muffled through the wood.

“Where is he?”

* * *

Simmons checks his watch. Doctor Church is twenty minutes late.

For a moment he second-guesses himself, but his last conversation with Doctor Church had been very specific. They had agreed to meet once before the Thanksgiving break, and then Doctor Church would be spending the holiday with Carolina.

Simmons isn’t sure what to do. He feels a little like a student in a class where the professor is running late, with a voice in the back of his head that sounds like Grif reminding him of the non-existent fifteen minute rule.

He checks his watch again. He should go home and call Carolina, see if she can put him in touch with her dad.

But then again, he could also stay here and try some magic. Doctor Church isn’t around to restrict him to the basics, and the ley line is right there, waiting for Simmons to do more than just apples to oranges spells and levitating one inch off the ground.

Simmons looks down at his satchel, where his notebooks are, tempted. But common sense collides with his curiosity. This will be his first time using magic since his bout with hairfluenza. He feels fine now, but his symptoms were strange enough by witch standards that he probably shouldn’t try to use magic without someone present.

Still, he waits in the clearing for another few minutes before he heads back to his car.

Grif greets him with, “You’re back early. Did you finally lose your temper? Please tell me you turned Leonard into a frog.” Grif’s feline expression radiates amusement as Simmons rolls his eyes and fights against a smile at the visual.

“No, Grif, I did not turn Doctor Church into a frog. He, uh, didn’t show up.”

Grif opens his mouth, then shuts it as Simmons adds, “No, I didn’t get the date wrong. We were meeting tonight, and then on Monday.” He reaches for the phone, wondering if it would be presumptuous if he asked Carolina for her dad’s phone number. He could’ve used it during the hairfluenza incident, and he could use it now.

The phone rings four or five times. Simmons is about to hang up when there’s a click and a low, “Hello?”

Simmons winces. He’d been hoping for Carolina or Church. He still worries that Ms. Kimball is holding a grudge about the Felix and Locus situation. He shifts in place. “Uh, hi. Ms. Kimball? It’s Mr. Simmons. Sorry to bother you, it’s just that Doctor Church was supposed to, uh, meet me tonight, and didn’t so I thought I’d call and see if he, um, reached out to you.”

“Right,” Kimball says. She’s quiet for a second, and Simmons is debating repeating himself when she adds, in a tone that people get when they’re about to hang up the phone, “Family emergency. I’ll let him know you--”

“Wait!” Simmons says quickly. He sees Grif poke his head over the arm of the couch, staring in his direction. “A family emergency? Is everyone all right?”

“Mr. Simmons--”

“I just spoke to Doctor Church last night and I saw Carolina and Church at school. Everyone seemed okay. What happened? Just….” What constitutes an emergency for a witch family? Did something happen to Carolina’s mom? He bites his lip. “I’m worried. Please.”

“I….” Kimball sighs. “Church...got sick. Suddenly.”

There’s a grim edge to her voice, one that makes Simmons’ anxiety skyrocket. “Wait, sick how? Like, the flu or something else--”

“I don’t _know_!” Kimball snaps. “He suddenly collapsed! How would I know? Emily and Leonard are the magic experts, I just teach kids how to use their magic-- or used to-- so I’m just sitting here with Carolina, waiting for them to give us any answers.” She stops, taking a deep breath that he can hear through the phone. “I don’t know,” she repeats, quietly this time. “I’ll...try to keep you in the loop.”

As soon as the call ends, Simmons grabs his coat. He doesn’t know how he can help, but he’s not sitting around waiting for an update. That was bad enough when Felix and Locus were running around during the summer. He’s going over and offering his help.

“Who’s sick?” Grif asks, following him as he grabs his satchel off the couch.

“Church,” Simmons says.

“So like the flu, or--”

“I don’t know! Can magic clones get hairfluenza?”

Grif blinks at him.

Simmons stares back, realizing that he hasn’t actually talked to Grif about the clone thing. He hasn’t known how to bring it up. It’s weird! People can apparently magically create other people! He doesn’t know how to start that very strange conversation!

Grif licks his nose. His tone is too casual to be believable. “Uh. So you know about that, huh.”

“Yeah, Church somehow assumed you'd told me.”

Grif bristles a little. “What about me makes people think I can't keep a secret? I can totally keep secrets!”

“We can ask Church when he’s feeling better,” Simmons says. He’s aiming for sarcastic, but Kimball’s _He suddenly collapsed_ plays on uncomfortable repeat in the back of his head. The words come out with an anxious wobble to them.

Grif doesn’t say anything, just headbutts Simmons in the knee.

* * *

When Emily comes into the kitchen, Vanessa takes one look at her expression and knows she won’t like what she’s about to hear.

“Leonard’s gone to get his notes from James' creation, but he’s stable for now.”

“Stable?” Carolina says. She doesn’t wait for clarification, just bolts into the living room.

Vanessa doesn’t follow. “For now,” she repeats slowly, once Carolina is out of earshot. She glances through the doorway, where she can see Church stretched out on the couch, a tangle of blue, purple, and red magic swirling over him. “What’s happening?”

Emily frowns. She’s quiet for a moment. When she does speak, it’s with care, as though she’s choosing each word with exact precision. “I don’t know much about Endorian conjuration based spells, or magical constructs in general, but the cellular structure is deteriorating, and quickly.”

Vanessa stares at her. “Wait. _The_ cellular structure? As in all of them?”

“Yes,” Emily says. “It would be an interesting case study if it wasn’t….” She stops. Her mouth twists as though she’s tasted something bitter. “We’ve put him in a temporary stasis, which should halt any further deterioration.”

The words take a moment to process. Vanessa hasn’t forgotten Church’s origin. But somehow over the past year she’d forgotten that the spell wasn’t meant to be permanent. She wracks her brain, trying to think if she had noticed any warning signs, missed symptoms of Church starting to fall apart, but she keeps getting distracted with memories.

Church is a kid. No matter how he was made, he's his own person, with his devotion to Carolina, his laziness, his love of grunge music and his mortal friends, his sweet tooth that could rival Voltaire's daily twelve cups of hot chocolate. He shouldn't get just a year of existence. He should get centuries.

Vanessa looks towards the living room again.

Carolina is perched on the armrest, staring down at Church, her entire body radiating fear and worry.

Vanessa doesn’t want to think about what will happen if they lose Church. If _Carolina_ loses Church. Vanessa has enough years as a Quizmaster under her belt to know that Carolina sees her magic as a burden and not a gift. If she loses Church, the one good thing magic gave her, Vanessa doesn’t know what she’ll do.

“Is it reversible?” she asks, still looking towards the kids.

Emily sighs. “Vanessa…. I don’t even know if we can stop it.”

* * *

Thunder rolls above Carolina's head.

She bolts to the stairs. She’s halfway up them by the time she sees her dad round the corner and stop at the top, his arms full of books. She halts with a step between them, swallowing against the tightness in her throat. “Sorry, I’ll get out of your way, I just-- I need-- I can’t just sit around.” She can’t just sit around, watching Church sleep, matching his too-slow breaths with her own. She has to help somehow.

“Carolina,” her dad says. She can’t read his expression, but his sightless eyes squint in her direction as he shifts the books in his arms. He frowns, and for a second her heart lurches in her chest, certain he’s going to tell her she can’t help, or that she needs to go to her room and let him handle it. Then he says, “I haven’t looked at my notes or the books I used in my research since, ah, since that first week after the spell. Another pair of eyes would be appreciated. If you could take some of the books and look for anything related to Endorian conjuration magic, simulacrums, and animistic spells--”

She doesn’t wait for him to finish, just blurts out, “Yes.” She practically snatches the books from his arms. “I’ll be in my room.”

The doorbell rings.

Carolina is still practically face to face with her dad. She sees the frustrated clench of his jaw, the way his eyes narrow, before he snaps, “But first, you can tell whoever it is to leave.”

“Uh, okay,” Carolina says. She winces. Hopefully it’s not Caboose, wondering where Church is.

It’s not Caboose. Instead it’s Mr. Simmons and Grif. Simmons gives her a worried smile. “Hi, Carolina. Ms. Kimball said Church was sick so--” His gaze flicks past her. She sees the second he registers the magic swirling around Church, because his eyes widen. “Uh. Is he--”

“He’s stable,” Carolina says quickly.

Simmons doesn’t look reassured. He keeps staring. Then he squares his shoulders. “We’re here to help.”

Grif, meanwhile, sniffs the air. Carolina knows Church looks bad with all the magic cocooning him, but she’s surprised by the way his ears flatten against his head. She watches him slink forward, his eyes fixed on Church.

“Grif?” Simmons asks, frowning at him.

Her dad’s voice rings out sharply. When Carolina looks, she finds him at the bottom of the stairs, that same tightness to his jaw from earlier while he snaps, “If you want to help, Richard, you may assist Carolina in searching those books for Endorian conjuration magic, simulacrums, and animistic spells, and let me and Emily know what you find.”

Simmons jerks his gaze from Grif and looks at her dad. “Assist Carolina,” he repeats, a little flatly. “Of course I can, but--”

“Good,” her dad says. “Now, if you will let me work.”

“I was going to my room, get out of Dad’s proximity so he can see,” Carolina explains.

“Okay,” Simmons says. He takes a deep breath, looking towards Church again. He squares his shoulders again and gives her a thin-lipped smile, obviously meant to reassure. “Let’s go.” He takes a few steps and then pauses. “Grif?”

Grif is perched on the armrest. His tail thrashes. “Yeah?” he says without looking away from Church.

“You coming?”

“No,” Grif mumbles. He leans forward a little, his nose almost touching the spell.

Simmons frowns in his direction, and then shakes his head. “Right.”

* * *

The phone rings.

Since Vanessa is unofficially on phone duty since Leonard and Emily are focused on their work, she goes to answer it.

“Hello, Ms. Kimball! Is Church there?”

Vanessa pulls the phone away from her ear with a wince that’s both at Caboose’s loud voice and at the prospect of lying to him. She grits her teeth for a moment, and then tries to fake a matter-of-fact voice. “Hello, Caboose. Church isn’t feeling well, so he came straight here--”

“He’s sick?” Alarm thrums in Caboose’s voice. “Should I bring soup?”

“No,” Vanessa says firmly. “He might be contagious. It’s best if you don’t visit. I’ll--” Her chest squeezes uncomfortably, remembering Emily’s words. “I’ll let you know when he’s feeling better and you can visit then, okay?”

“My mom makes really good soup. I could leave it on the steps,” Caboose offers.

“That’s a sweet thought, Caboose.”

“But no,” he says with a sigh. “Okay. I won't bring soup. Tell Church I hope he feels better soon!”

Vanessa frowns as she hangs up. She hasn’t even thought of what they’ll tell Church’s friends if-- She doesn’t let herself finish the thought, but her chest tightens again, worry and alarm half-choking her.

She goes out into the living room. “We should move Church to his bedroom.”

Leonard looks away from his notes with a distracted frown. “We shouldn’t waste unnecessary power on moving him when Emily’s stasis spell is holding.”

“Except Caboose just called,” Vanessa says grimly.

“Oh dear,” Emily says. “Yes. He will want to visit, won’t he?” She looks at Church’s unconscious form. Her lips tighten. Vanessa can see her calculate a few things quickly in her head. “Vanessa, I agree with Leonard that we need to conserve our magic. Would you be a dear and float him upstairs for me?”

Vanessa blinks at her, and then understands. She might know the spellbook and handbook from front to back, but this kind of magic is beyond the basics. It will probably be Emily and Leonard doing most of the magic to fix Church. It’s going to fall to Vanessa for the grunt work, which is only slightly better than twiddling her thumbs and answering the phone.

Vanessa waves her hand, focusing, and lifts Church off the couch. She knows that he’s in a stasis spell, the interweaving colors of purple and blue and red are impossible to ignore, but it’s still unsettling to watch Church not even twitch as she floats him up the stairs and into his room.

She hesitates in front of his bed. It’s unmade, as usual, and she stares at the rumpled sheets, remembering the way he’d practically had to be dragged out of bed. She hadn’t thought anything of it. A constant throughout the centuries is that teenagers don’t tend to be morning people. But now she’s wondering what signs she missed.

She keeps Church floating in place as she makes his bed the mortal way, smoothing out the wrinkles. Then she sets him gently on the bed.

Vanessa should check in on Carolina, but she hesitates. It feels wrong to leave Church alone.

Then Grif slinks through the door and jumps onto the end of the bed. His ears are flat and his nose keeps twitching. He doesn’t acknowledge Vanessa at all. Instead he settles himself lightly on the pillow next to Church’s head, giving Church all his narrow-eyed focus.

Vanessa starts to speak, then snaps her mouth shut at the familiar flare of gold sparks in the hallway. Shock, then alarm, then anger jolts her system in rapid succession. How does he have such awful timing? It’s almost impressive, except it’s mostly enraging.

“Oh, Van--” Donald’s awkward smile turns to a look of astonishment as Vanessa grabs his bowtie and drags him down so that they’re eye-to-eye. “Er--”

“Quizmaster Manual, page 258, stipulation 1356, line 24,” she hisses at him, letting some of her frustration at this entire awful situation color her voice. “ _Leave_.”

The astonishment is replaced by concern. “A family emergency?” He furrows his brow, and the hand that had reached up to pluck awkwardly at Vanessa’s wrist falls back to his side. “Of course, all pop quizzes will be postponed for the duration, but, ah, if there’s anything I can do--”

“You can leave,” Vanessa says.

He obeys, but not without another worried look.

* * *

Emily knows the stasis spell is holding. It will send her an alert if it ends. She still has to quell the urge to go upstairs and see it for herself. She’s so distracted that she tries to read one paragraph of Leonard’s notes twice and doesn’t absorb a single useful thing.

She pauses to rub her eyes. She refocuses. On any other day, Leonard’s notes would be absolutely fascinating. The way he was attempting to adapt the Endorian conjuration spell foundation and combine it with animistic imprinting techniques is fiendishly clever. It’s so unique it’s no wonder that the spell went so wild.

Still, something is bothering her. “You didn’t plan for an expiration date?”

Leonard looks up from her notes, the ones she’s made during those first few weeks after she and Vanessa discovered James in their midst. He blinks. “No. It was already a spell meant to push limits, I had worried if I specified two years that would, ah. Take more power than I could offer.”

Emily gives him a look. “You are very lucky the spell didn’t kill you.”

Leonard gives her a look of his own. “I am aware.”

Emily sets the papers down. “So there was no way of knowing, even when you began the spell, how long it would last.”

A muscle jumps in Leonard’s jaw. “No.”

Emily picks up the notes from earlier, as she and Leonard had studied the results of her diagnostic spells. “According to these, his magic and mind have been unstable for an extended period. Memory lapses, spells not working as they should….” She remembers, with a queer jump in her pulse, laughing at James' failures during the Treaty of Paris incident. Had that been a sign? She presses her lips together. “Subtle enough to miss. Until the core started to unravel.”

“He must have noticed,” Leonard says, half to himself. He rubs his hand across his mouth, frowning. “Why didn’t he tell anyone?”

Guilt is not a familiar emotion to Emily. But she feels it now with another jump in her pulse and an uncomfortable roiling of her stomach. She might not know why James kept his symptoms secret from Vanessa or Carolina, but she suspects why he kept them from her.

The notes in Leonard’s hands are useful, but also a condemnation of sorts. She certainly didn’t treat James like a person in those first few months. She can’t even pinpoint the moment he switched from being a fascinating magical mistake, a simulacrum who would break down soon enough, to being James. She only knows that he has.

Perhaps, if she hadn’t poked and prodded James, he would have come to her.

“Never mind,” Leonard mutters. He taps his fist against one of the books spread out on the coffee table. “We need to focus on the present, not the past. There must be a way to halt and reverse the deterioration.”

Emily would like to believe that. But centuries as a doctor have left her more of a pessimist than an optimist.

* * *

“Here,” Carolina says. She shoves a small stack of post-it notes into Simmons’ hand and then snatches a book off the pile. “Blue post-its for Endorian conjuration magic, yellow for simulacrums, and pink for animistic spells.”

Simmons blinks. “Right.” He grabs a book as well, but his attention is on Carolina as she sits on her bed.

She’d mostly kept control of her voice, but now her hands shake as she opens the book. She huddles over the book, scowling down at its pages and mumbling, “No index?” Tension radiates off her.

Simmons clears his throat. He doesn’t know much more than Church collapsed, but his brain is playing out worst-case scenarios after seeing all that swirling magic around Church’s unconscious body. His stomach twists. If he’s this worried, he can’t imagine what Carolina is feeling right now.

“They’re going to fix him,” he promises. “I don’t know what’s wrong. Is it the spell that made him? Or something else? But we’ll fix him.” He’s going to do everything he can, even if Doctor Church insists on putting him in the kids' corner.

Carolina looks up. Her mouth twists, her breath turning shaky. “Yeah.” Then she blinks and squints at him. “The spell that--”

Judging by the look on her face, Church hadn’t told her that Simmons knows about him. He says quickly, “Yeah, he, uh, thought I already knew. I thought magic was amazing before, but I never thought it could make a person! I just--” He shakes his head. “We’ll fix him,” he repeats, putting as much confidence into his words as he can.

“Of course we will,” Carolina says. Her voice is steady now, and matter-of-fact, like there’s no other option. She gives him a tense smile, and then bends over her book, her hair falling around her face as she flips to the front and begins to skim its pages.

* * *

By morning, Simmons has read so much that his head hurts. He caught a few hours of sleep because after a while the words had stopped making sense, but he’s still pretty tired. He rubs at his eyes, eating the breakfast Kimball has summoned without really tasting it. He tries not to speed eat through the meal, even if impatience has him wanting to gulp down his cup of coffee. Grey had grabbed the books he and Carolina had covered in post-it notes an hour ago, but there are still books to get through. He wants to get back to work.

“You too,” Kimball says, carrying Grif into the kitchen. “We all need to eat.”

Grif grumbles, stiff and uncomfortable in her arms. He jumps to the table next to Simmons’ elbow, his tail thumping Simmons’ arm as it thrashes. He looks down at the bowl Kimball has left out for him, and then starts to eat. He’s always a fast eater, but he seems even more rushed than usual, like he’s impatient to get back to Church.

Simmons frowns in his direction, but Grif isn’t even looking at him. He knew Grif would be worried about Church too, but he didn’t expect this level. Grif didn’t even come into Carolina’s room all night.

He’s about to ask what’s going on when Doctor Grey says, “Leonard and I will be doing some tests this morning.”

Doctor Church frowns, as though he hadn’t wanted her to tell anyone else, but Carolina straightens in her seat, her breakfast forgotten. “What does that mean?”

Doctor Church drums his fingers upon the edge of the table. “It means that we have a few theories on how to cure him. We will be conducting a few tests.”

Carolina’s expression brightens. For a moment Simmons thinks she might dart around the table and hug her dad. She says, “Good. Should I stay here or is my room okay?” and starts eating faster.

“Your room will be fine.”

When they’ve finished breakfast, though, it’s only Carolina who goes into her bedroom. Simmons marches into Church’s bedroom after the witches, half-daring them to tell him to leave.

Grif darts ahead of them. He jumps up to Church’s pillow and crouches there, watching Church with unblinking eyes.

“Shall we?” Doctor Church says, glancing at Grey.

Grey nods. She waves a hand and the magic swirling around Church momentarily disappears. Then a thin band of purple symbols appears around Church’s head, almost like a crown, that pulses brighter as Doctor Church passes a slow hand over Church’s still form. Both Grey and Doctor Church stare intently at the symbols.

“Look,” Doctor Church says. “As we suspected, the--”

Grif’s tail has been twitching, but now it puffs up. His ears go flat. “Put him back in the stasis.” The growled words are almost incomprehensible.

“What,” Grey begins, and then Church’s eyes snap open and he screams.

It’s a high, thin sound of agony, and Simmons flinches back while Grif hisses.

Church’s skin begins to crack like broken porcelain, a blue light spilling from the fractures. The purple diagnostic spell bleeds to red.

The blue and red magic pulses brighter. Simmons can’t see. He can only hear Grey’s panic as she shouts, “No!”

Church’s screaming cuts off abruptly.

There’s a new stasis spell in place when Simmons rubs the spots from his vision. His heart is pounding and he feels sick from shock. Church's screaming is still ringing in his ears. Before he can ask what the hell just happened, the door opens.

Carolina bursts into the room, shoving past him and Kimball.

Doctor Church winces, his hand jerking to his eyes. “Carolina,” he snaps.

Simmons bristles at the way Doctor Church says her name, but Carolina barely acknowledges her dad other than a frustrated grimace. She’s too busy staring at the cracks. One hand twitches at her side like she wants to reach out and touch Church. Her voice comes out as a whisper. “He screamed.”

Grey looks up from studying the red diagnostics spell. Alarm colors her voice. “Leonard, the deterioration is accelerating. We halted it with the stasis spell, but--” She breaks off, her lips compressing into a thin line.

Carolina gives Church one more long stare, her mouth trembling, before she throws herself back out of the room.

Kimball goes after her.

There’s silence in the room. Or rather, not silence, because Grif is growling softly.

* * *

Carolina stumbles into her bedroom. For a moment she’s as blind as her dad, just from tears instead of magic. Rage boils in her chest, rage and fear and horror. When she rubs her hand across her eyes, all she can see are those awful cracks.

She hates this. She hates being useless while Church is-- while he’s--

“Carolina,” Kimball says softly.

Carolina wipes at her eyes again. “Go away. Unless you’re here to tell me how I can actually do something.”

Kimball sighs. “I’m not.” She doesn’t leave. “Carolina, I...I don’t know what’s going to happen. But right now we have to trust that Emily and your father will do everything they can to save him.” The corners of her mouth turn up, but it’s not a smile. “Even if it doesn’t feel like enough, we can still help. They’ll need food and water, and there are still a few more books you and Mr. Simmons were going through--”

“I can’t just sit and _read_!” Carolina doesn’t mean to shout, but the words hang in the air.

And the thing is? She knows Kimball’s right. Her mom always swore that every job was important in the rescue. Her dad and Grey will need all their energy to save Church, and making sure they're hydrated and eating regular meals is important. It still doesn’t make Carolina feel useful. She squeezes her eyes shut, tries to breathe. “I just--” Her voice fails her.

“I know,” Kimball says softly. “Emily and your dad will do their best.”

There’s a sudden slam of a door and a roll of thunder.

* * *

“Oh what a beautiful morning!” Salem sings. He pauses to scarf down another bite of his waffle and wipe syrup off his whiskers, and then launches back into the song. “Oh what a beautiful day!”

Sabrina laughs. “Somebody’s excited for a spa day.”

“Of course!” Salem says. A wistful note creeps into his voice. “When I rule the world, every day will be a spa day.” He notices Zelda’s raised eyebrow. “ _If_ I ruled the world, I mean. Which I don’t, obviously.” He waits until Zelda looks away and mutters, “Though I should.”

Hilda has the brochure out. “Mm, I am in the mood for the Essential Honey Drip. There’s nothing quite like being dipped into a human-sized beehive to really give you a good buzz.”

Sabrina wrinkles her nose. She knows that Hilda and Zelda love that honey dip, but it sounds a little weird to her. “I think I’ll just go with a Venus facial,” she says. She tries to read the brochure upside down. “And the mood ring nail care sounds cool. Might be hard to explain to Harvey and Valerie though, but--”

Thunder rumbles above their heads.

Hilda blinks. “Were we expecting company?”

“Zelda!” The demanding voice is slightly familiar, though Sabrina can’t quite place it.

Zelda clearly recognizes it. The recognition on her face quickly turns to confusion. “Why is he--” She stops and shakes her head, then hurries out of the kitchen.

Hilda squints after her.

“We’re gonna snoop, right?” Salem asks, already jumping down from the table.

“Obviously,” Hilda says.

Sabrina stands up too. “I’m in.” She points at their feet and makes them silent. She loves her aunt, but Hilda’s attempts at eavesdropping tend to sound like a rampaging elephant.

After they all creep up the stairs, she, Hilda, and Salem peer carefully over the top steps.

Sabrina’s first sight is a pair of men’s black dress shoes, slightly scuffed, as the visitor says, his voice low and urgent, “--failing. It’s failing and Emily and I need your assistance.”

“Leonard,” Zelda says. There’s a weird note to her voice, and when Sabrina looks up at her aunt, she sees the shock in her wide eyes and half-open mouth, which opens and shuts and then opens again before she says, “If I hadn’t met him, I wouldn’t-- for a spell to-- the implications--”

Carolina’s dad makes a sharp movement, like he’s shoving her words aside. He looks _terrible_. There are shadows like bruises under his eyes, and a haggardness to his face that makes Sabrina’s stomach twist in sympathy. “We don’t have time for this,” he snaps. “The stasis spell is a stop-gap measure, I don’t know if it’s even--” He stops. He’s lost his tie at some point, his collar rumpled. Sabrina watches his throat bob as he swallows and says, “Carolina cannot lose him. Zelda, _please_.”

Hilda leans over Salem and whispers to Sabrina, “I get the feeling we’re missing something.”

“You think?” Sabrina hisses back.

Zelda’s eyes dart briefly in their direction, annoyance momentarily flitting across her face, and then she refocuses on Carolina’s dad. “I… Yes. Just let me get my labtop.”

“So no spa day?” Salem says. Sabrina expects the question to be a put-upon whine, or for him to launch into a spiel that Zelda can go help Doctor Church and Salem will enjoy the spa day himself. He doesn’t.

“No spa day,” Zelda says grimly.

* * *

Normally the sight of formulas and scientific theories on multiple boards, the smell of erasable markers and bubbling potions bring Zelda a quiet joy. For the last seven hours, they've brought her nothing but anxiety.

They’ve finally settled on using the same principles Leonard used to build the original spellwork, but that isn't enough. It’s like seeing a crumbling foundation and trying to not only repair it, but to strengthen it with any bits of magical theory that will fit in the cracks. She stares at the latest formula. Several of the ingredients have a welcome check-mark beside them, including the ones Emily and Vanessa are currently fetching from Leonard’s lab and one of Emily’s contacts in the Other Realm, but several don't.

Zelda jabs a finger towards the most troubling ingredient. “I’m telling you, if we’re using the Loew Principle to ensure the permanent stability of the spell, we have to use the eighteen scales of a Lotan dragon. We can’t substitute ones from a Druk. It will counteract the effect of the thorn plucked from a lion’s paw.”

Leonard glares at her. His bloodshot eyes blaze as he snaps, “A single Lotan scale would be an impossible request, much less _eighteen_.”

Zelda bristles. “I realize that! But I do have some old contacts with access. We could ask.”

“Ask them what, precisely, Doctor Spellman?” Leonard’s voice has gone low, each syllable dripping with frustrated condescension. “How would you word a request for some of the last 306 Lotan scales in both Realms?”

He stops, wincing as color leeches from his eyes, and then holds out an expectant hand. “Ah, Carolina.” Carolina has been darting in and out of the room to give him magical tomes bristling with post-it notes all morning and afternoon.

Carolina has a book in her hands, but she seems to have forgotten about it.

“Tell them a kid’s life is at stake! It’s not rocket science!” This suggestion comes from Mr. Simmons, who's been bringing in the occasional book himself. Zelda hasn’t had any time to devote to that odd mystery on top of everything else.

Now he stands in the doorway with Carolina, looking at them like his response is the most obvious answer in the world.

Leonard pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s not that simple. Lotan scales aren’t used for medical spells, someone will ask questions, and the Council cannot be allowed to find out.”

“Who cares about the Council?” Simmons says. An angry flush creeps into his cheeks.

Carolina sidles over to Zelda, staring at the list of ingredients. There's a terrible hope in her wan face. “This is what you need? To fix him?” she asks, either ignoring or oblivious to the argument brewing between her father and Simmons.

Zelda sighs. She’s too tired to sugar-coat it. “It’s our best chance. But getting all of the ingredients will be difficult, if not impossible, even if I call in some favors--”

Leonard’s voice rises. When Zelda glances at him, he still has his hand outstretched, but now he drops it to his side. “I don't have time to explain all the ways the Council finding out about this is the worst possible outcome.”

The angry flush goes from Simmons’ face, and all the rest of the color. “The worst possible outcome,” he repeats flatly. “We have to do everything we can!”

Impatience touches Leonard’s voice now. “ _We_? Don't mistake your continued involvement for responsibility, Richard.”

Simmons barks out a laugh, shaky and humorless. His angry voice gets high and sharp, and he spits out, “Responsibility. Responsi-- Forgive me, Leonard, for thinking at least _one of us_ should take responsibility for his actions!”

“What,” Leonard says, as his eyes come back to a blazing green, poisonous with fury, “are you implying?”

Zelda can taste the rising tension in the air. She clears her throat. “Gentlemen, I think--”

“I’m not _implying_ anything,” Simmons says. “I’m _saying_ that you seem more concerned with your reputation than keeping Church alive.”

Zelda has never seen Leonard look so angry. She tries again, but the two men don’t even seem to remember she’s in the room, despite her loud, “Gentlemen! We don’t have time for this!”

“Stop talking about things of which you know less than nothing,” Leonard hisses.

Simmons does that shaky laugh again. “I only know what Church told me. You think he’s a screw up and a mistake, and your life would probably be easier if he--”

His nose breaks under Leonard’s fist with a violent, sickening crunch.

Simmons stumbles backwards as Leonard clutches his hand to his chest.

Zelda freezes in place, staring in astonishment. She replays the last few seconds over in her head, but even witnessing it, she still can't quite believe it. The Leonard Church she knows never raises his voice. His signs of temper are shown in curt words and the occasional frown. Certainly never _physical violence_. She shakes herself free from her shock, indignation boiling in her. “What on earth was _that_?” she snaps at both men, who finally seem to notice her presence. “We are here to save a boy’s life, not, not for you two to posture and indulge in temper tantrums!”

She points at Simmons, who’s holding his nose. “Go let Hilda look at your nose.” Then she turns to Leonard. “And you! Letting your emotions get the better of you at the worst possible time! Calm down, and then we’ll figure out what to do about the ingredients--”

Zelda starts to point towards the ingredients list. She points at thin air.

The list is gone.

* * *

All Grif can do is keep watch. So that's what he does. He watches. He watches even though the smell coming off Church makes every fur on his body bristle. The smell had been bad as soon as he’d walked into brownstone, like spoiled milk, but now the glowing blue cracks on the kid’s skin let off the stink of rot.

It doesn’t matter that Church is unconscious and probably can’t feel any pain, his face slack and still. All of Grif’s cat instincts yell at him to get closer, to curl up against Church and purr at him the way you take care of sick kittens.

He barely pays attention to the people going in and out of the room and keeping the stasis spell in place. It’s only when a familiar, welcome scent creeps into the room, followed by the less familiar scent of blood, that Grif looks away from Church.

“Dude,” he says, blinking at the blood dripping from Simmons’ nose. He gets up, his tail thrashing, his instincts pulling him between Simmons and Church now. “What happened?”

Simmons grimaces, and then grimaces again, like the first gesture hurt. “Ran into a doorknob,” he says waspishly. It’s a lie, but not even a decent attempt at one. Blood drips down his wrist and stains his cardigan.

“Uh huh,” Hilda says, giving him a look.

Grif jumps down from the bed. He can’t touch Church, but Simmons is within reach and in pain, even if he’s a terrible liar. Grif rubs up against Simmons’ legs, nudging at his knees until Simmons sighs.

“...I got punched.”

“Seriously?” Grif says.

“Aw, I missed Zelda punching someone?” Hilda complains. “This is just like the time she punched Richard Feynman….”

There’s a sudden bang makes Grif jump away from Simmons, growling. Smoke momentarily fills the room and makes him sneeze. When the smoke clears, the blood is gone, and Simmons has a large ice-pack against his nose.

Behind the ice-pack, Simmons’ expression turns distinctly shifty. “Right. Zelda….”

Grif narrows his eyes, and then dismisses the obvious lie as unimportant for now. He’s beginning to realize that he’s barely seen Simmons since they arrived the night before. “I leave you alone for a couple hours and you get beat up?” he says, rubbing against Simmons’ shins. “Can’t take you anywhere.”

He’s trying to get a small smile out of Simmons, but instead Simmons' shoulders droop, and then the rest of him droops as well as he sits down on the ground and sighs. His fingers are cold from the ice-pack, but Grif leans into his touch anyway, listening to Simmons mutter, “I…. I might’ve deserved it a little. Though he--” Simmons stops, and sighs again. “I just...I need a couple minutes.” He pauses, and Grif knows without looking that Simmons is staring up at Church. “Then I’ll get back to work. Reading books is better than doing nothing.”

Grif steps into his lap, pressing closer.

Simmons’ scent almost drowns out the smell of rot.

* * *

Carolina clutches the ingredients list to her chest and takes the stairs two at a time.

She lands at the foot of the basement steps with a thud that she feels in her knees, but she doesn’t stop moving. She prowls around the room, looking for the tell-tale green flames. She doesn’t see them. Her stomach sinks. Panic curdles some of the hope in her chest. It has to be here. It has to be.

She turns on the lights.

Finally there’s a flash of green in the far corner of the room.

She strides towards the horse-shaped lamp and slaps her hand against it.

“I’m calling in my favor!”

The emerald eyes of the lamp flash, and then the djinn pours himself from the horse’s mouth. He looms over her, looking a little annoyed. “Most people would say hello, you know.”

Carolina shakes her head. She doesn’t have time to be polite, not when every time she blinks she sees the awful blue cracks, not when Church’s scream keeps rattling around in her head. “I’m calling in my favor,” she repeats. “Fix Church.”

“Fix--” The djinn stops. His face tilts towards the ceiling. Understanding twists his face. “Oh,” he says after a long moment. “I see the problem.”

“So you can fix him,” Carolina says, almost choking on the words.

The djinn’s expression softens. Carolina hates the sympathy in his expression even before he says, with seemingly real regret, “I cannot. My powers cannot affect witch spells.”

Carolina’s throat closes. For a second she can’t breathe. “You can’t-- then what--” Then what good is his favor if he can’t help with this, she almost asks. The sound of crumpling paper fills her ears, and she looks down to realize she’s clutching the ingredients list. She stares at it. She remembers what the djinn said when he granted her the favor. “You said...you said you could get rare magical ingredients.” She thrusts the paper at him. “Get this stuff for me.”

The djinn takes the list. He reads over it, muttering the ingredients to himself. “Moonstone dipped in water blessed by a unicorn, a vial of kraken’s tears, _Lotan scales_?” His eyes glow brighter. “This is much more than a single favor….”

Then he looks back down at Carolina. Whatever expression she has on her face makes him add quickly, “But exceptions may be made for emergencies! And I do love my lamp.”

Carolina meets Zelda on the stairs to the second floor. “Here,” she says, watching surprise flicker across Zelda's features. “The ingredients you and Dad need.”

“The--” Zelda opens the large bag. Her eyes widen. “Oh. That... Thank you?”

“I called in a favor,” Carolina explains.

If anything, Zelda looks even more confused. Her mouth falls open, gaping for a moment before she says, “A _favor_? Who in either Realm could owe you a favor, a large enough favor to get you _eighteen_ \--”

“A djinn.”

Zelda keeps staring. “I-- You--” She gives herself a full body shake. She clutches the bag to her chest and murmurs to herself, “No, Zelda, this isn’t the time for questions.” She turns, her voice tight with excitement.

“Leonard!”


	2. A Creature of Fine Sensations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now for the thrilling conclusion of season three!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the final chapter of the season! It's been so much fun to write.
> 
> As always thanks to Aryashi for helping me with this.
> 
> I'll probably be wrapping up act 1 of my heroes AU shortly, and then taking a short hiatus while I organize my notes for season four and the second half of heroes, but Teenage Witch will return shortly! Thanks so much for all your lovely comments and enthusiasm. I've been having a blast writing this AU!

Sabrina staggers under the platters of food she’s attempting to carry into the closet. “Maybe I should’ve made breakfast for everyone _after_ I got to the house,” she mumbles, grunting with effort.

Salem snickers at her feet. “Yeah, you didn’t think that one through.”

Sabrina frowns down at him as she finally manages to get into the closet. “Well, everything’s a little distracting right now!”

When she steps out into Doctor Grey’s hallway, she has to reorient herself. There’s tension in the air, so thick a knife could cut it. She’s suddenly glad she’s mostly just magicked up some food and handed it off to Hilda these past two days.

It’s hard to imagine that Church is behind one of these doors, falling apart. It’s been weird enough to learn that magic can apparently make a _person_ and weirder still to know that the magic can start to fail.

She maneuvers the food down to the kitchen, and finds her aunts, Doctor Grey, and Ms. Kimball seated around the table, nursing cups of coffee and tea. They all look tired, but Hilda smiles when she sees Sabrina.

“Oh, good, breakfast,” she says. “Pass it over.”

“Where’s everyone else?” Sabrina asks, handing out plates piled high with French toast, waffles, scrambled eggs, bagels, and pretty much everything except pancakes and pork. Looking at all the food, she suspects she may have overdone it. Still, everyone’s going to need a full stomach and lots of energy to do the spell that will fix Church.

Kimball sets down her mug. She rubs at her eyes. “Carolina insisted on sustaining the stasis spell herself, so she’ll be in Church’s room. I’m not sure about the rest.”

“Right,” Sabrina says. Time for an awkward game of hide and seek, she guesses. She holds onto a few plates and goes searching.

“I’m gonna look for Grif,” Salem says as they enter the living room. His nose twitches and he makes a beeline towards the stairs.

“Okay, but any guesses where--”

Salem’s already bounding up the stairs. Sabrina sighs. She glances around, hoping that someone’s decided to take a nap on the couch, but she’s alone in the room. Everyone else is probably upstairs. Maybe Doctor Church is with Carolina, watching over Church.

She takes a step towards the stairs, when there’s a flash of red. She turns.

Mr. Simmons is out in the backyard, pacing around in a circle.

When she opens the door, she realizes he’s talking to himself.

“--know that the magic is advanced, but I can do _something_ , even if it’s a power boost or, uh, I don’t know. But you have to let me help, he may not be my responsibility, but I care--”

He stops when he realizes he has company, flushing. He rubs at his jaw and gives her an awkward, polite smile. “Oh, hello, Sabrina.”

“I’ve got breakfast,” Sabrina says.

“Oh.” Simmons blinks down at the plate she offers him. “Right. Good idea. Thank you.”

“Maybe eat inside?” Sabrina suggests. “You’re kind of, uh, wearing down the grass.”

Simmons stares at the grass, which does have the distinct look of being recently trampled. He makes a face. “Yeah. Another good idea.”

Sabrina hesitates, curious. She’s been wondering about Simmons. How did she not know that he was a witch? She understands the weird science rivalry Zelda has with Doctor Church and Doctor Grey, but neither of her aunts nor Salem know Simmons.

This isn’t the time to ask. Instead she asks, “Do you know where Doctor Church is?”

Simmons’ tired expression does something very complicated, too many emotions flitting across his face for Sabrina to figure out. Then he shakes his head and gives a very definite, “No.”

Sabrina sighs. “Okay. I’ll keep looking.”

She goes upstairs. She hesitates at the door that she’s pretty sure leads into Church’s bedroom. Before she can psych herself into knocking, the slightly jar door opens and Salem shoves a protesting Grif out with his head against the other familiar’s side.

“Have you been in there the whole time?” Salem says, sounding slightly horrified. “The place reeks!”

Grif glares. “ _Reeks_?”

“Yeah.” Salem seems to notice the glare, because he adds, “Well, it does!”

“Dude,” Grif growls, and then blinks up at Sabrina.

“Eat some breakfast,” Salem orders, then adds to Sabrina, “Carolina’s in there.”

Sabrina stares at the ajar door. She can’t see all the way into the room, but she spies the magical glow of the stasis spell. She takes a deep breath, and then pulls the door the rest of the way open.

She tries not to stare at Church on the bed. Even Hilda describing the creepy blue cracks on his skin hadn’t prepared her. But when she focuses on Carolina, Carolina doesn’t look great either. Her eyes look sunken, and her hair is limp like she hasn’t washed in days and has just been sitting by Church’s side the entire time.

Carolina’s staring at the bed.

She only looks up when Sabrina clears her throat and says, “Hey. Uh. Brought you some food.”

“Thanks,” Carolina says dully. She takes the plate, but almost immediately sets it in her lap, the food untouched.

Sabrina doesn’t know what to say, so she doesn’t say anything, just sits down next to Carolina. She remembers Salem saying the room reeks, but it doesn’t smell as horrible as she was expecting. It’s stuffy and there’s a slight smell of unwashed bodies, but it doesn’t reek. She doesn’t know what Salem is talking about.

After a minute or two, she realizes that Carolina isn’t going to eat that plate of food. “I worked kind of hard on that breakfast. Well, not really, it was mostly magic, but you should still eat.”

Carolina’s face twists. Her hands clench into fists. “Magic,” she repeats, and Sabrina’s startled by the venom in her voice.

“Yeah?” Sabrina says. It comes out as a question.

“Magic keeps taking things from me,” Carolina says, staring at Church. “Took my mom, messed things up with my dad. Church's the one good--” She stops, clenching her jaw so tightly that Sabrina sees a muscle jump there. “And magic...magic can’t even work enough to keep him healthy!” Her voice cracks.

Sabrina’s stomach twists in sympathy. “Magic can fix him,” she says, trying to figure out a way to get rid of some of the awful misery and anger in Carolina’s face. “Zelda and your dad and Doctor Grey are all really smart. They'll help him.”

Carolina doesn’t look convinced.

“Look, I cause a lot of problems with my magic. A lot. There was this time I accidentally almost got Harvey eaten by a wicked witch and-- But, uh, magic always gets me into trouble, but it always gets me out of it again, you know? Magic is--” Sabrina hunts for the right words. “Magic can be good. You gotta learn how to use it. If magic made Church, it can save him too.”

Carolina sags a little beside her. She stares at Church, her hands still fists but some of the misery and anger leave her expression. She bites her lip. “It has to,” she whispers.

“It will,” Sabrina promises. It’s probably not a promise she should be making, but she doesn’t care. Magic can’t fail them now. It wouldn’t be fair. She bumps her shoulder against Carolina’s. “The adults will fix him.” Then she forces cheerfulness into her voice. “And then after this, you and I should do a girls' night. No magic talk, just hanging out.”

Carolina blinks. She glances over at Sabrina, her eyebrows lifting a little like she’s not sure if Sabrina is being serious. Then she smiles. It’s a weak, small smile, but it’s there. “I’m in.”

Sabrina smiles back. She remembers trying to ask Carolina about that cute basketball player during their lunch and getting interrupted. “We can talk about boys!”

Carolina squints at her. “Less in….”

Sabrina laughs, probably a little too loudly, but she’s flooded with relief at Carolina cracking a joke. She pats Carolina’s shoulder and stands up. “Eat. Church is gonna be pissed when he wakes up if you're half-starved.”

“Okay,” Carolina says. She looks down at her plate like she’s actually registering it.

Sabrina is almost to the door when she remembers she still has to track down Doctor Church. “Uh, do you know where your dad is?”

Carolina frowns at her. “He’s not downstairs?”

“Never mind, I’ll find him,” Sabrina says. “Gotta go!”

She checks Carolina’s room, but it’s empty. She knocks on the bathroom, but there’s no answer there. She finally starts poking her head into random rooms, hoping Doctor Grey and Ms. Kimball won’t mind her scoping out their bedrooms.

On her third try, she opens the door to a dimly lit room and finds Doctor Church sitting at the edge of a bed. His glasses are in his hands, his back is bent, and he looks even more exhausted than he had the day before.

He looks up when the light spills into the room. Blinking owlishly, he straightens and puts his glasses back on. “Miss Spellman.”

“Um. Hi.” When Doctor Church just looks at her, she smiles awkwardly and holds out the last plate. “The Spellman food train, pulling into the station. Uh. Good luck with, uh, the spell and stuff.”

“Luck will have nothing to do with it,” Doctor Church says absently. Like his daughter, he’s staring at the food like eating is the last thing he wants to do. Still, at least he takes the plate.

“So did you want a light on or--”

Doctor Church gives her a look.

Sabrina beats a hasty retreat.

* * *

Grif perches between Church’s alarm clock and a pile of CD cases on the bedside table, watching the other witches prepare for the spell.

They’ve pulled Church’s bed to the center of the room. All this magic might be way above Grif’s head, but he recognizes a ritual circle when he sees one.

A frown of concentration creases Grey’s forehead while she and Leonard layer a ring of salt and various herbs around the bed. As they work, Zelda stirs the cauldron counter-clockwise, murmuring under her breath while the potion bubbles.

The room’s crowded. Kimball, Hilda, and Simmons stand at the back of the room. Grif can see Simmons chewing on his lip, darting looks towards the surrounding witches and obviously trying to psych himself up to say something.

Only Carolina’s not there. She’s pacing just outside, probably cursing all the stupid Council rules and her dad’s blindness loophole that keep her from being in the room. Grif doesn’t blame her. He’s feeling pretty useless himself.

And so does Simmons, apparently, because Simmons stops biting his lip and lifts his chin. He gets a familiar stubborn look on his face. “Before you start--” His voice comes out high with nerves. He stops, flushing, but he doesn’t lose the stubbornness. “There has to be some way I can help.”

Zelda doesn’t stop stirring the cauldron. “Yes, we were discussing that.”

Simmons was clearly expecting an argument, because he bristles and then blinks. “...You were?”

“We need you to cycle the effluvium back into the spell so there isn’t superfluous magic in the room,” Grey says, looking up from adding a line of glittering chalk around the ritual circle. “A bit like nurses dealing with excess blood during a surgery.”

“I can definitely do that,” Simmons says quickly, his shoulders loosening.

“We need our magic and only our magic to touch Church,” Zelda adds.

They finish the ritual circle, which is technically three circles linked together with salt, chalk, and magical herbs. The scents mix in with the underlying smell of rot, and Grif resists the urge to sneeze as Zelda stops stirring the potion.

“We must be precise,” Leonard says, stepping carefully over the circle to the cauldron. It’s the first words he’s said since they started setting up the spell. The potion bubbles, pulsing the blue and purple of the mingled magic, but the liquid must not be hot, because Leonard dips one finger into it and doesn’t flinch. His finger glows as he reaches through the stasis spell to Church’s forehead. The symbols sink into the skin, pulsing as brightly as the blue cracks scattered across Church’s body.

Zelda and Grey add their own symbols, pushing Church’s sleeves up to his elbows and writing symbols down his arms.

When they’re done, they bring out the lotan scales, holding them like someone would carry grenades. The lotan scales are all the size of an apple, gleaming blood red. Leonard sets one on the middle of Church’s chest as Zelda and Grey place one into each open palm.

Then they step carefully into their chosen spots, forming a living triangle within the ritual circle. The other fifteen lotan scales are divided into five and placed around each witch, forming three even smaller triangles of power.

Kimball closes the curtains. The room doesn’t plunge into darkness, but the magic’s glow and candles illuminate everything.

Grif flattens himself against the table’s surface, tucking his tail under him so he doesn’t knock anything off and disrupt the spell. If he had fingers, he would’ve crossed them.

There’s a moment of silence before Leonard says, “Vanessa, on the count of three, please begin to remove the stasis. _Slowly_. Then we shall begin.”

Vanessa steps forward, raising a hand. The stasis spell begins to unravel, slowly, peeling away from Church. It’s almost like a ball of yawn, a string of magic loosening from it. Grif’s stupid cat instincts have a brief moment of confusion before the stasis string drifts towards Vanessa.

The magic dissolves before it gets within a foot of her, turning to smoke that vanishes into nothing as Simmons clenches his fists and growls out his incantation. “To again make the child well, all magic goes back to the spell.”

He keeps repeating it, but the three witches drown him out as they chant something long and complex in Latin. Magic builds in the air, prickling Grif’s fur. He swallows back a hiss of surprise when the circles catch flame. None of the other witches twitch, so apparently it’s part of the spell.

The herbs go first, blazing an unnatural violet. Then the chalk scorches a dark purple. Last is the salt ring, burning blue. The flames continue to burn as the three witches keep chanting, their eyes fixed upon the bed as the stasis spell gets thinner and fainter.

When the last of the stasis spell goes a few minutes into the chanting, Kimball takes a deep breath and wipes her hand across her forehead.

Hilda reaches out a hand to steady her and then whispers, “So how long before we know if it’s working or not?”

Kimball shrugs. “No idea,” she says tersely. “Hopefully soon, but they'll do the spell for as long as it takes.”

The scent of burned herbs overpower Grif’s nose. He can’t tell if the smell of rot is getting weaker or not. He squints at Church, trying to see if there’s any difference at all in the blue cracks.

As he does, the flames jump like someone’s thrown fuel onto them. The glow of the symbols brighten until the light is blinding. Grif has to close his eyes and put a paw over them for good measure.

There’s a sharp crack, like a gunshot.

Leonard shouts, anger and disbelief in his voice, “No!”

Grif lowers his paw, squinting. It’s hard to see with the symbols blazing like miniature suns, but Grif is close enough to see that the lotan scale on Church’s chest has cracked, the blood red color dimmed to a colorless gray.

Church makes a sound, hoarse and raw, like he’s been screaming for hours and lost his voice, the pained noise rising in intensity. His eyes don’t open, but his expression twists, and he moans again.

“Don’t lose focus,” Zelda says sharply, though Grif can’t tell if her words are directed at everyone or someone in particular.

The chant begins again, punctuated by the bedroom door slamming open.

Carolina stands in the doorway, her face white as Church keeps moaning.

The glowing symbols are still hurting Grif’s eyes, but he can see the color drain from Leonard’s eyes. Leonard grimaces, twisting a little in place like he wants to scold Carolina for not staying outside, but he doesn’t stop the incantation.

Carolina skirts the edge of the ritual circle until she’s reached the side of the bed where Grif is perched. “It isn’t working,” she says. All the emotion is on her face; there’s nothing in her voice. She stares at Church, her hands twitching at her sides.

“Carolina,” Grif says helplessly, but there’s nothing to say. He reaches out a paw to her arm.

She doesn’t notice the touch, so he drops it.

Then Church moans again, and her expression changes.

Grif knows that look. It’s similar to the one she wore when she decided they were going after Felix and Locus. She’s about to do something stupid and reckless and dangerous. “Carolina--”

Carolina says, low and determined, “I’m not losing my brother,” and steps over the three circles. She grabs Church’s hand, squeezing it tightly, apparently not caring that the lotan scale is caught between their palms.

There’s a flash of blue, so bright that Grif has to close his eyes again.

He hears a dull thud. He forces his eyes open, and stares at Carolina, still holding onto Church’s hand but crumpled beside the bed, her head resting against Church’s arm.

* * *

Carolina opens her eyes. She’s in Church’s bedroom, except...not. It’s his room, but everything’s a little bit smudged and faded, like she’s inside an old photograph version of his room.

She’s alone, standing over an empty bed. “Church?” She goes for the door. When she tries to open it, the knob stings her hand, sharp like something’s cut her. She yanks it back, and watches the edges of the door glow blue, the same electric blue as the cracks on Church’s body.

This time she yells his name. “ _Church_!”

“Okay, okay,” comes a weary voice behind her. “What memory is it this time?”

Carolina whirls. Church is standing by the bed, his arms crossed and an exhausted frown on his face. He’s wearing the same clothing he collapsed in. “Church,” she repeats a third time, her voice cracking.

He blinks at her. “Carolina?” he says, a little uncertainly.

Carolina sucks in a breath, a sob rising in her throat.

Shock wipes the uncertainty off his face. His mouth opens and shuts, and then he blurts out, tripping over the rushed words, “My account is with Bank of America, the number is 20746, and my PIN is 1235!”

It’s not what Carolina was expecting him to say. “What?”

“Bank of America, number 20746, PIN 1235.”

When she just stares at him, he throws up his hands and says, “The bank isn't allowed to keep my money when I'm gone and I don't have a will! You use it! Donate it to charity or something!”

Carolina stares at him. She has a bunch of questions, but what comes out is, “Why is your PIN 1235?”

Church grimaces and shrugs. He rubs at the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes. He mutters, “One-two-three-four was too obvious.....”

Carolina keeps staring, baffled, as Church keeps talking.

“Tell Grey that, uh, for someone who wanted to take me apart at first she wasn’t too creepy as a guardian. And Kimball that she was pretty good too. The movie nights were fun. Caboose was a good friend even if I kind of sucked at it. Tucker can have my grunge stuff. Tell him maybe he’d get a girlfriend if he wasn’t so desperate. And--”

He stops, breathing hard. He jams his hands into his pocket, sways back and forth, and mumbles, “And I saw your mom. I should’ve told you, but I didn’t know how. It isn’t cool that I could see her and you can’t, but she loves you and misses you so much, and she’s probably got a calendar counting down the days until your birthday, and--”

It finally clicks, what Church is doing. It’s not quite the traditional deathbed viddui, but it is his last words. The realization is like a gut-punch. She goes cold with disbelief and then hot with a slow, burning rage.

“And I couldn’t pass messages, obviously, but I told her about you. I told--”

“Stop,” Carolina snaps.

Church winces.

“Stop, just-- just stop. Please.” Carolina is too angry to think clearly. She paces around the faded room, trying to figure out what to say.

Church watches her warily, his hands still in his pockets, braced like he thinks she’s going to yell more. When she just keeps pacing, he licks his lips and says, “Look, I’m just trying--”

“Stop!”

Church clamps his mouth shut, but now he actually looks annoyed, like _Carolina_ is the jerk for interrupting his final words. It’s infuriating.

Carolina glares at him. “Stop acting like you’re gonna die!”

Church blinks. Then his shoulders sag. “Carolina….”

She gets angrier at the defeat in his voice. She steps up close and jabs him in the chest. “We’re saving you! Everyone’s doing a spell, and we’re gonna fix everything, and you’re gonna be fine!”

Church smiles a little at that. The smile is familiar, but for a second Carolina can’t place it. Then she does. He wore this look the first time she tried to protect him, when she threw the salt on him and Grey dismissed her protection spell with ease. It’s a bittersweet, lopsided smile, like he’s happy she’s willing to fight for him, but still certain his time is running out.

“Judaism tells us not to hasten death,” Carolina reminds him fiercely. She knows he doesn’t go to shul, she doesn’t know if he even believes, but he needs to listen.

“I’m not _hastening_ anything,” Church says. His smile twists. “I don’t-- I don’t _want_ to die, but--” He shakes his head and looks at her. The exhaustion creeps back in. “Carolina…. Leonard didn’t build the spell to last. We’re lucky we got this long--”

The bedroom door slams open with a crackle of electrical magic, blue light spilling into the room.

Carolina and Church both spin to face it.

Her dad plunges through the doorway, the edges of his suit singed. He stumbles a little, breathing hard, his gaze darting wildly and landing on them. Relief floods his expression, and then he blinks, touching the rim of his glasses and staring with surprised green eyes. After a moment he gives a small dismissive shake of his head.

Weirdly, there’s relief on Church’s face too. “Took you long enough.”

Her dad steps forward. There’s still a little smoke coming off his clothing. His voice is raspy as he snaps, “Carolina, you _cannot_ be so reckless.”

“Hate that my last thing is gonna be agreeing with Leonard, but yeah,” Church says. “Who knows what’ll happen to you if I die while you’re still here?” He waves a hand around at their faded surroundings.

Her dad gives him a sharp look. “I would prefer not to contemplate that scenario.” Then he glances around, studying the walls and the flickering blue doorway behind him. His frown deepens.

“I don’t care,” Carolina says, her temporary surprise replaced by anger again. She hates the defeat still lingering in Church’s eyes. Her jaw aches as she grits her teeth and adds, “The spell wasn’t working, so I had to do something.”

“ _You_ convince her,” Church says, looking up at her dad. A pleading note colors his voice. “I’m a ticking time bomb.”

Her dad turns his frown on Church. “Yes and no. We’re working on a solution--”

“Yeah, Carolina mentioned that. But come on, Leonard, it won’t work. Stop wasting time and get Carolina out of here.” When her dad doesn’t move, Church’s expression crumples, fear and pain twisting his expression. “What are you waiting for? Your daughter’s at risk! Isn’t that your whole thing?”

Her dad stares at him. “My daughter isn’t the only one at risk!”

Church’s face goes blank, and then he laughs awkwardly. “Heh. Weird time to pretend you care, Leonard. Just grab Carolina and go.” He smiles again, that same tired smile from before. “She’ll forgive you eventually.”

Carolina braces herself, ready to fight if her dad follows the suggestion, but her dad just keeps staring at Church.

One eyebrow rises. “No, she wouldn’t.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Carolina snaps. She almost chokes on the words, so furious there’s a knot in her throat and her skin prickles.

“We won’t abandon you,” her dad says to Church, and he laughs again, this time high and incredulous.

“Are you _kidding me_? The _one_ time I need you to-- just go! Stop dragging this out and pretending you’ll be sad when I kick the bucket, just-- will you please just--”

“I will not allow you to die,” her dad says sharply.

Tears well in Church’s eyes as he glares. “Oh, will you stop? Stop acting like this wasn’t inevitable. You didn’t make this--” He gestures wildly at himself. “--to last!”

“I didn’t,” her dad agrees grimly. “But that was before the spell drastically altered itself and created you instead of a simulacrum.” He takes a deep breath. His brow is furrowed as he stares at Church. “The spell is so far out of its original bounds, anything is theoretically possible. Including your survival.”

When Church gives a small shake of his head, her dad leans forward a little, his voice quiet and precise. “You are so much more than I originally designed. I may have been blind during all these dinners, but I am not a fool. Do you think I wouldn’t believe empirical evidence set before me?”

Church shakes his head again, this time a small, baffled gesture, tears streaming down his face.

“You have a bizarre taste in music. Your appetite is for sweets and confections. You show little interest in science. You enjoy mortal games. You have a different hug bug. You have an entire year of independent memories and experiences. You are almost completely my opposite, except--”

Her dad stops. His jaw works for a moment. “Except in your love for Carolina.”

They both turn and look at her.

“I,” Carolina says, even that word strangling her. She remembers what she said before, when she stepped into the ritual circle and grabbed Church’s hand. “He’s my brother.” She feels the truth of it in her bones.

Church sucks in a breath. That worn smile comes back in full-force, wobbly and wet with tears. He tries to say something, but it ends up just being a shaky breath. He wipes at his face, knocking his glasses askew, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he looks at her dad again.

“Yeah, I love her,” he says. “So that’s why you gotta go--”

“Not without my brother,” Carolina says, pouring all the conviction and determination she feels into her voice. The words come out like an oath, like a spell, even as Church’s expression twists.

“You keep _saying_ that--” Church stops, shaking his head, like he wants to believe it, but can’t.

“Because it’s true,” her dad says with an intense certainty.

“Oh, screw you, Leonard!” Church shouts, voice cracking. “Just--”

“ _Listen to me_!” her dad shouts back. His green eyes blaze. “What will it take for you to believe I am in earnest? Shall I detail every single moment that made me realize you are a-- a--” His hand twitches at his side, as though he’s physically grappling with words. “A creature of fine sensations? That I am not Victor, too proud to--”

“Frankenstein,” Church says. “Why are you talking about--” Surprise smooths out his expression again. “You read my essay.”

“And the book, yes.” Her dad takes a deep breath. “It was...enlightening.”

Church stares at him, baffled now. “I don’t--”

“You will _not_ share the Creature’s fate,” her dad says fiercely. He hesitates and then extends his hand. Softer, but no less fierce, he adds, “I owe you a portion of happiness. So trust me and, and your sister when we say you will live.”

Church keeps staring. “I….”

The floor shudders underneath them. Carolina watches in horror as colors leech from the walls and floor until everything is white and black and gray. It’s like being trapped in a black and white photograph.

Church gazes around with wide eyes. He studies the poster Tucker gave him for his birthday, like if he stares long and hard enough the color will come back. His voice sounds almost distant when he mumbles, “Huh. You’d think you'd forget what's on the walls before you forget what color they are.”

“We don’t have time for thought exercises,” her dad snaps. He still has his hand out.

Church grimaces. He rubs at his face again, muffling his desperate, “That’s what I’ve been _saying_ but you won’t _leave_!”

“I’m not leaving without my--”

Her dad stops, his expression changing. His lips move soundlessly for a second.

Before he can say anything else, there’s another shudder beneath them. It doesn’t feel any stronger than the first one, but Church crumples. Carolina has a second of wrenching déjà vu, but he doesn’t collapse completely, landing hard on his knees.

Carolina crouches next to him, her heart pounding when she gets a look at how pale Church is. She grabs his hand, which is cold.

He clutches at her, squeezing painfully tight, as he gasps for breath.

Her dad’s shadow falls across them both, and Carolina looks up, her vision blurring with terrified tears, as he kneels in front of them, a clumsy, uncoordinated movement. She’s never heard her father’s voice sound like this, harsh and desperate.

“Church,” he says, and Carolina realizes the name sounds strange in his mouth because he’s never actually said it before. “Church, half of magic is your intention and feelings. If you don’t believe you will live, the spell has no chance for success. We didn’t account for that, no one thought-- Don’t ascend your funeral pyre without a fight. I will not--” He stops. He grabs Church’s other hand. “I will not lose my son.”

For a second, there’s only the sound of Church’s ragged breathing. Then he starts to whisper something, his voice so low that they both lean in to hear him.

“Hey, Leonard. I got another piece of evidence for you on how we're different.”

He squeezes their hands and lifts his head with effort. He smiles weakly, and Carolina’s eyes blur again at the spark of the old Church.

“I’m not an only child.”

There’s a blinding flash of blue.

* * *

A second lotan scale shatters into lifeless gray shards.

As Emily watches, James goes silent and the blue cracks spread, opening like slashes across his bare skin. Now even she can smell the sourness in the air that Dexter and Salem have complained about, a smell that has a constant growl rumbling from Dexter’s throat and one that Emily recognizes too well after centuries as a doctor.

She keeps up the incantation, bracing herself against the unavoidable fact that they might fail to save James despite everyone’s best efforts. She compartmentalizes her grief, tucks it away for later, when they aren’t pouring all their magic into the spell.

“This isn’t working,” Zelda says breathlessly.

Vanessa’s face is gleaming with sweat. She had taken Leonard’s place in the circle and within the ritual without question, but she’s clearly unused to this complicated spellwork. Sweat drips off her nose as she turns in the space where Leonard had stood to glare in Zelda’s direction. _We’re not giving up_ , her furious expression says.

“What do we do?” Hilda asks. Her eyes are wide as she stares at the three motionless figures at the bed. “I mean, I’d go after them, but this is starting to feel like a clown car situation….”

A third scale breaks, the sound like a gunshot.

If James is too far gone, then they’re left with only one option: preventing Carolina and Leonard from dying with him.

Carolina might hate Emily forever, but at least she will be alive to hate her. And it’s far better that she despises Emily than her own father. The choice is clear, if painful. Emily is used to painful and difficult decisions, though this one is the worst. She takes another breath, tucks the frustration and rage away in a small box in the back of her head.

Before she can speak, there’s a brilliant flash of blue.

Emily feels a scorching heat against her skin as though the flames of the ritual have swelled to bonfires. Then as suddenly as it comes, the heat is gone. She blinks spots from her vision as someone gasps like they’re coming up for air.

“Anyone get the plates on that truck?” James groans.

Relief hits Emily even before she can see James, sitting upright and drenched in sweat, his skin clear except for a smudge upon his forehead where Leonard traced symbols for life and health.

She processes other things -- the burnt ritual circles, the remaining lotan scales intact but transformed into a cerulean blue, the dissipating rotten smell in the air -- but mostly she’s focused on James as Carolina jerks to her feet and bends over the bed, still holding his hand.

Carolina’s other hand touches his neck where one of the cracks had been. “The plates? Probably ended in 1235,” she says with a watery smile.

Emily doesn’t understand the reference, but James laughs weakly.

“Yeah, remind me to change that….”

Dexter hops onto the bed and headbutts James in the side. His fur is slowly settling back into place. “Glad you’re not dead, kid.”

James looks startled, and then he grins. “Me too.”

Leonard winces as he stands slowly. Looking exhausted, he leans against the bed. Relief warms his expression even as his blind eyes follow the sound of Carolina and James’ voices. “How are you both feeling?”

James makes a rueful face at him, and then realizes Leonard can’t see it. “Just said. Like I got run over by a truck.” He eyes Leonard. Emily is surprised, and then amused by the concern that creases James’ forehead. She suppresses a giggle, wondering if anyone else has noticed the three are still holding each other’s hands. “Sit down before you fall down.”

“To again make the child well, all magic goes back to the spell.” The mumbled words are slightly slurred.

Emily turns to find Richard still whispering his incantation, his eyes squeezed shut and his face pale.

“Child?” James objects. “I’m not a child.”

“Yeah, you’re a baby,” Dexter says with a snort.

James yelps in protest. “I am not!”

“Richard, he’s safe,” Emily says reassuringly. “You can stop.”

Dexter turns, his ears flicking. His eyes narrow as Richard opens his eyes, blinking hard.

Richard’s gaze focuses on the bed, where James starts to give him a wave and then gets distracted by the realization that he’s still holding Carolina and Leonard’s hands. “...Oh good,” he says weakly, relief in his voice. Then he closes his eyes and sits down very hard in the bean bag behind him. He’s asleep before Dexter reaches him, but Dexter doesn’t even pause before he climbs into his lap, purring.

Emily turns back towards the bed.

“Well!” she chirps, smiling. She giggles. “I think Richard has the right idea in that we have all earned a long rest, but first, one final diagnostics spell. Just to be safe.”

She waves a hand towards James with effort, feeling that specific exhaustion that comes from using so much magic. “Hilda, we could also use strong tea with lots of sugar,” she says, sitting down in a chair.

“I can do that,” Hilda says cheerfully. “Come on, Zelda, sit down too. You look wiped.”

The diagnostics spell is still spinning around James’ head, glowing a reassuring purple, when the doorbell rings.

Dexter breaks off from his purring to drawl, “Expecting someone?”

The doorbell rings again. Vanessa quirks an eyebrow. She looks amused. “No, but I have a guess….” She finishes off her tea and heads downstairs.

The bellow is muffled, but still clearly audible.

“HELLO, MS. KIMBALL! I KNOW YOU SAID NOT TO COME, BUT I BROUGHT SOUP. IS CHURCH FEELING BETTER?”

Emily is hit by a wave of relief when James groans dramatically. He certainly recognizes the voice, which means the earlier memory loss was only temporary. One glance at her diagnostics spell confirms it.

James flops against his pillows as Leonard looks amused and Carolina laughs.

“Come on, Church. Don’t you want a hug from your hug bug?” she teases.

James makes a face at her. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Nope,” Carolina says and smiles. "Never." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Fun trivia fact:** We thought we'd leave you with the quotation from Frankenstein that Leonard uses in the second-to-last scene, one that Frankenstein says during a rare moment of sympathy with the Creature!
> 
> "His tale, and the feelings he now expressed, proved him to be a creature of fine sensations; and did I not as his maker, owe him, all the portion of happiness that it was in my power to bestow?"


End file.
